


Marked for Mercy

by ipsumneue



Category: Mafiatale - Fandom, Mobtale, Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1930s, Apologies for anachronisms, Crime, Detective Noir, Detective Story, Drugs, F/F, F/M, Frisk is an adult and your boss. Lucky/Unlucky you!, Gambling, Gang Violence, Gaster is probably still a huge jerk, Gen, Hard times in the Under Underground, Hardboiled, Love/Hate, Mobtale - Freeform, Mystery, Other AU versions may make an appearance, Reader Is Not Frisk (Undertale), Reader is a rookie detective, Reader-Insert, Slow Burn, Smut? Probably? Eventually?, Vague appearance descriptions for Reader, Violence, Will update as I go. Thank you!, gender neutral frisk, illegal fighting ring, mafiatale, pining and more pining, reader is female, reader with a Past, sans is a player, there are mages
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:02:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24972010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ipsumneue/pseuds/ipsumneue
Summary: The streets of New Ebott City is no place for a rookie detective like yourself. That's what they tell you, anyway. Frisk, your partner-in-crime-solving and your employer, is missing and you're willing to do almost anything to bring them (and a regularly scheduled paycheck) back into your life. Unfortunately, it's never that simple, is it? You soon find out that there are others also on the hunt for Frisk and you'll have to quickly learn to stand on your own two feet to navigate the cryptic web of criminal intrigue, your murky past, and...love? No, you don't have time for that! You're not interested! Get out!
Relationships: Sans (Undertale)/Reader, Will add as I go...
Comments: 8
Kudos: 11





	1. Human

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! Here's a hardboiled detective story I've been writing on and off as a creative exercise this summer. Just for kicks. Admittedly, it isn't finished and there are a lot of story beats I've yet to establish but I'll fill in as I go... For those who are waiting for updates on my other fic, I'm also working on that too! Apologies for the erratic and sparse submissions. 
> 
> Thank you for checking this out!

The muzzle they strapped them in was a tad too tight for their liking. The mechanical shackles on their wrists were finished being tuned for optimal magical flow, capable of dispensing up to 5,000mA of uninterrupted electrical current straight through their very human heart. No one had figured out the delicate science of turning monsters into dust reliably so the powers that be decided overkill was the best way to kill anyone at all.  
  
The ringside handler for the night was a half-blind brute who had the raw hands of a lifelong sailor. Protection runes were tattooed, carved, and branded into his sallow, salt-dried skin, giving him the look of a man who feared magic as much as he hated its users. _Good thing she isn’t one._ His one good eye lingered on their pensive face and back to concentrating on his brass pocket watch.  
  
They shift uncomfortably in their dirty jumpsuit listening to the faint roaring of agitated spectators coming from the arena above. “Arena” was pushing it. It was more like a glorified cage in an overlooked warehouse deep within New Ebott City’s harbor. The kind of place prowl cars conveniently stayed clear of, wheels plenty greased by the pockets of the biggest mage and monster rackets in town. Rank, dim, and always ankle-deep in peculiar dust. _Thank god she’s not a mage._ The handler snaps his watch shut and begins to wind the lever of a large mechanical winch. The ground beneath them starts to rumble.   
  
A bipedal bull, with shackles just like theirs, enters the staging pit with a charred and vaguely man-shaped sack slung across his back. He and the handler have a muted conversation, undecipherable over the clanking of chains. The handler gestures towards the captive’s cell with his free hand, flashing the monster a rotted grin. The bull snorts and squints to get a better gander at the rather ordinary-looking human slumped against the corner, still deep in their own thoughts. Just a nobody who had the unlucky honor of being the newest rising star of the lower Under Underground district. Tonight's plat du jour for the hungry wolves of the night. Or for the Froggits if they were lucky. He flings his horns back in raucous laughter.   
  
"All this shit, over _this_ drip?"  
  
The handler shrugs as the ceiling panel slides open. The jeers rise to a fevered pitch.

"Yeah? That's what I've been sayin'."  
  
The chains attached to the cage rattle dully as the platform begins its scheduled ascent. The man shakes his ugly head slowly, blinking at the light pouring in from above.  
  
"Glad I ain't no stinkin’ mage."


	2. Rookie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter, Y/N.

"Frisk, where the hell did you go...?"   
  
Your distracted throw lands the dart a mile off the city map hanging slack on the other side of the dusty office. You lean back into the worn captain’s chair and stretch out lazily, kicking up scuffed brogues onto the desk. You clumsily knock over an ashtray and the clatter against the pitted hardwood startles your feet off Frisk's beloved victorian walnut in case they suddenly walk back into the office- two years late.  
  
The dust motes, equally surprised, take flight like irate starlings and settle vengefully over the growing heap of yellowed newspaper clippings, tabloids, and undeveloped film, calling attention to the backlog of work you've been putting off for weeks. You had lost the taste for messy infidelity cases even long before your apprenticeship. Too bad it paid the bills.   
  
You pick up the ashtray off the floor, grateful for it being empty. Frisk's nasty habit had rubbed off on you and trying to quit was harder than finding honest work in New Ebott City. The Under Underground district in particular was no place for a single girl of your stature to be wandering about at night, shaking down boozehounds and their mistresses on behalf of rich, sex-starved wives. Good thing you were a fast learner with a lucky streak and a knack for bruising up mugs. You had no love for guns and preferred to forgo them altogether. You make another dart fly across the room. _And a miss._ Your aim was terrible anyway. A barrage of quick, sharp knocks at the door brings you back to earth.  
  
" 'Ellooo? Ms. Y/N? It's already the fifth! You know the deal!"  
  
You hastily tug at your lambskin gloves out of habit and open the door to find the third eldest of your landlady’s twelve children holding out her tiny paws expectantly. You grin knowingly.  
  
“Afternoon, Little Daisy. Your ma’ putting you on collections today?”  
  
Little Daisy Holland swipes the check from your fingertips and stuffs it into the pockets of her sister's old dress. She waggles her short rabbit ears cheekily and unjams a thumb from her mouth long enough to respond, “It’s coz yore always late! Just like yer lazy boss!”  
  
You squat down, beckoning her closer. Carefully, you drop a piece of brightly wrapped monster candy onto her damp paw. “Well ma’am, if you let me off with a warning this time, I’ll give you another one of these tomorrow. How’s that sound?”  
  
Little Daisy nods once and slides a thumb across her throat threateningly. She marches off down the stairs to the parlor where Mrs.Holland was busy turning away a pair of loud newspaper solicitors. Kids these days were damn scary.  
  
Before making your retreat you run your fingers over the peeling gold letters on the frosted windowpane.  
  
 _Frisky Business Investigations, Private Eye_  
  
You smile remembering the earful you gave Frisk, five years your senior, for telling clients you both worked for the “FBI”. Neither of you had any love for the feds and your business depended on that distrust to operate. You make your way back inside, glancing at the tasteless monster pinup calendar you hadn’t bothered to take down since they disappeared. The clients loved it. The lopsided Chesterfield groans as you sprawl onto it on all fours, thoroughly exhausted from the unbearable act of being awake. It took a long time to admit it but the neverending and ultimately futile search for your boss had left you in a state of stagnation for quite some time now. _But still._ Hope springs eternal, or so the old saying goes.   
  
You glance up at the beat-up rotary phone. It had been an unusually quiet day. _Maybe the old gal’s finally starting to go._ You had been meaning to replace it but the newer magical models that were all the rage these days were more trouble than they were worth. Ever since you absconded from the convent, magical objects of all kinds have had the annoying habit of sparking in your hands at best or bursting into flames at worst. The effects always varied and were never pleasant. In the end, Frisk decided to play it safe by banning all monster-made equipment out of respect for you- and the city fire department. The gloves you wore at all times weren’t just for show. They were mandatory. Something about liabilities, they used to say.  
  
You force yourself off the sofa. _No point in staying cooped up in the office today._ Congratulating yourself for another productive afternoon, you head up the spiral staircase to your small loft apartment. As if on cue, the phone starts to ring.  
  
“Frisky Biz’ Investigations, Y/N at your service.”  
  
A buzzing noise, a click, then silence.  
  
They hung up. The receiver was still in your hand when you heard the sound of something sliding under the door. A neatly sealed envelope with your name scribbled on the back lies enticingly between you and the exit. You quickly scramble to undo the locks, throwing yourself out the room just in time to witness the mystery postman’s utter and complete disappearance. Still standing out in the hall you turn the correspondence in your hands, gingerly prying it of its content. Your fingers prickle slightly under the gloves as you read the letter.  
  
 _Have information on your missing partner.  
_ _Old Ebott Harbor, Warehouse District, WH-1  
11 PM  
No heat.  
Please come alone. _  
  
_P.S._  
 _Bring a sweater._  
  
It smelled like butterscotch.


	3. WH-1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Against better judgement, Y/N answers the mysterious summons.

Old Ebott Harbor was just a few miles north of the newly built, and aptly named, _New_ Ebott Harbor but any driver in-the-know would never risk their neck driving through Main Street at this hour. The recent surge of disappearances and homicides had turf skirmishes at an all-time high. Things were pretty bad when minor human and monster gangs were calling truces, albeit temporarily, to take on rivals, cops, and even each other in broad daylight. The word around town is that the only ones turning a profit amid the conflict were bootleggers and mage-for-hires. You keep a fixed gaze out the foggy window watching the muddy neon streets of the Under Underground blur into the distant, roiling sea. Nighttime was when the big fish came out to play.  
  
The cab rolls hesitantly along the seaside road, its headlights leering at the cluster of abandoned mackerel canneries with suspicion. This side of the harbor had been in disuse for some years after operations moved up the coast. There were talks of investors attempting to develop it into an oceanside leisure park but deals kept mysteriously falling through. You tap the glass with your knuckles to indicate your stop. The driver parks abruptly and turns around pointing his cap in your direction, skepticism tugging at his leatherbound face.  
  
“‘Ey girly, you, uh, sure thissit?”  
  
“Sure as you and I are full of bones."  
  
“Well, suit yerself. You gonna be long?”  
  
“Take off, pal. I’ll be alright.”  
  
The driver shrugs and takes your fare with a grunt. It wasn’t his business where Jane Does ended up in this town after dark. He swerves around, speeding towards the posher side of town where the clientele were less cagey. You pull up your oversized gabardine trench to your ears to combat the early autumn windchill, almost regretting leaving your hat behind. You never liked to wear them but they were great for when you needed to get around crowds unnoticed. Your street urchin act was especially potent.  
  
The abandoned warehouses were arranged in several rows built on top of a floating dock of treated pine and rusted scrap metal. Each block is connected by a network of disintegrating piling and makeshift ramps ravaged by high tide. You estimate there were about 30 sprawling blocks in all. With no power to light the cast iron holophanes you’re at the mercy of a shy, waxing crescent, and your lighter, to guide the way.   
  
You squint at the note again. _WH-1_ . Your mystery date made things easy, at least. You walk up to the first series of warehouses and check the faded stencil lettering on the door. _WH-2_ . _That can’t be right._ You stride to the adjacent door. _WH-7_ . You move one door over. _WH-85_ . You step quickly down to the end of the row. _WH-400, WH-71, WH-Q, WH-00, WH-BLUE, WH-FOURTEEN_ . You repeat the same process down the next row. And the next. You bite down on your knuckle in frustration. This was looking like a bad joke every minute.  
  
As the night draws on you become acutely aware of the unsteady creaking under you. The smell of rust and fish long gone keeps you distracted from the paranoia of being watched. You keep a steady pace checking each unit's doors, warily eyeing the odd stray cat flickering in and out of the shadows like tabby striped pike. You check your wristwatch under the glow of your lighter. _11:30._ If your informant hadn’t already left there was a good chance you’d run into them back at the entrance when they did decide to bounce. The light jog back towards dry land was quick and uneventful until something catches your eye.  
  
You back up to face the first door you inspected that night. _WH-9_ . _This makes no sense._ This was clearly where _WH-2_ used to be. You look around as if to find the prankster responsible and turn your attention to the doors down that row. They were all different now too. You shut your eyes and groan into your chilled hands. _Magic._ Magic was undoubtedly at work here and you didn’t like it. This whole joint was a puzzle.  
  
This was Frisk’s field of expertise. You were still in the process of learning about magically enhanced puzzles and frankly didn’t care much for the ordinary human variety either. You look up from your grousing in time to notice a couple of stray cats yowling and scattering out from a distance having just been disturbed by something. You make a run towards the direction with your eyes strained against the night. About a few blocks in you notice a lone door whose heavy drop lock was conspicuously left hanging off the latch. _WH-1_ . _Looks like I got a freebie this time.  
  
_ The rust covered steel door of _WH-1_ looked slick with blood. It felt sticky under your gloves too. You give the door a slight tug. It didn’t budge. You try again with more force. Still shut. You use both hands and throw your weight behind it in vain.  
  
“i wouldn’t go in there if i were you, kid. ”  
  
You stifle a surprised yelp and pull back sharply. An outline of a shadowy figure was leaning against the frame a few inches from you. The hairs on the back of your neck rose. _Has he been here this entire time?_   
  
He continues leisurely in the same bass rumble, “unless of course....you’re here for the _shareholders_ meeting.”  
  
He shifts his body closer to where you’re rooted. His strange, toothy grin now visible and practically glowing under the sliver of the moon. You can barely make out his hand reaching towards you. _Oh no you don’t._ Your fight response kicks in as you jump back with your fists squared up. A strange static surge prickles your skin.  
  
“The only _meeting_ I’ll be doing is with those pearly whites if you don’t back off, p-”

_Huh?  
  
_ You blink and he’s gone. You lower your arms and stand motionless, listening for any nearby movement. Nothing. You flick your lighter open again to scan the immediate vicinity for traces of the stranger. _Sooner I get out of here, the better._ You turn your attention back to the door, now slightly ajar. _That’s new._ You sniff the air. _Not to mention fishy._ You pry apart the door with a bit of effort and manage to squeeze through. The bottom of your shoes hit some kind of springy wood, no doubt a product of humidity and rot. That would explain the acrid odor and why it was so hard to breathe. _Wait. That’s not right._ Pulling loose hair away from your face you take stock of your surroundings for the first time. You immediately wish you hadn’t.  
  
Forty and a half pairs of steely eyes pin you where you stand. Monsters of every size and shape sat coolly around a table, dressed in the criminal excess of their trade bearing more ice between them than a blood diamond mine. A small freighter’s worth of cigars were simultaneously lit, one or three in every heel’s snarling maw, smoke billowing so thick that their throats were draped in scarves of ermine. You can’t recall a time in your life where you ever felt so small. Your eyes refuse to tear up as they scan the room marking every polished piece on standby. No self-respecting gangster of the Under Underground carried anything that wasn’t magically modified to some degree. In short, you were shit out of luck.  
  
A gator with a full set of gold veneers leans back in his chair and jerks the massive length of his horned head in your direction, “Thought we agreed to leave the pickups at home, gents.”  
  
“Dun’ look at us. Me’n my boys have more self control than that,” a brightly furred monster in the back chuckles thickly through a mouthful of cigars.  
  
An amphibious voice hisses at you mockingly, “Got businessss with usss, angel?”  
  
“I...I might,” you hold up your hands non threateningly, feet glued to the floorboards, “I’m looking for-”  
  
 _“trouble?_ ”  
  
An arm wraps around your waist. Startled and covered in goosebumps, you instinctively try yanking free, the freeze spell finally broken by the stranger’s unwarranted touch. The arm tightens its inhuman grip as if daring you to try again.  
  
The gator monster turns his attention to your new friend, “Decided to show up after all, eh Sans?” He points a claw at you, “She yours?”  
  
“sorry ‘bout that, Sal. you know i can’t say no to a little midnight dish to-go.”   
  
Your dubious savior was about a foot shorter than you, his broad body draped in an expensive navy three-piece topped with a matching wool fedora. You couldn’t resist craning your neck to get a better look at his face. Sensing your movement, Sans jerks you upright with his bony knee against the crook of your leg. His deep voice barely rose above a whisper but the dire nature of his intent was loud and clear.  
  
"i told ya, kid."


	4. The Shareholders Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A man is judged by the company he keeps. You decide the man is terrible.

"You're an absolute dog, Sans."  
  
"a _bone_ -afied pedigree."  
  
"Since when have _you_ been into human broads?"  
  
"mmm, since five minutes ago?"  
  
"Meh, dunno ‘bout this one. Think I liked your last one better."  
  
“me too.”  
  
“Speak fore yerself. I calls dibs when yer dones with ‘er.”  
  
“heh, doubt you can afford it, bud.”  
  
The crude banter was getting on your nerves as you contemplate the probability of successfully setting the whole harbor on fire.  
  
"Shut your yaps, scumbags. Sans! You're late and a damn fool as always, bringin’ another one of your cheap bims in here."  
  
"swell of ya to notice, Undyne,” he winks at the one-eyed fish monstress glowering at the center of the table.  
  
“Do you even know what time it is? And where's your brother? Listen to me, you idiot. If this deal falls through there's no telling wh-,"  
  
Sans cuts in, tilting his head at your useless body plastered against him, still squirming half-heartedly, "gee, spoil the grand plan to _everyone_ why dontcha."  
  
Undyne huffs and crosses her bare arms in pointed silence. You stifle a respectful whistle. The dame was built to kill. "Whatever. We have more important things to do right now. Just get her the hell out of my sight before I bump her off myself."  
  
Sans takes off his hat in a mock bow. _Is that a skull?_ You manage to get a glimpse of his collarbones, no, his clavicle under his shirt. _A skeleton monster, huh._ Now that’s not something you see every day. Before you get the chance to study him further, Sans wheels you around, his arm still firmly attached. The air around you briefly swells into a static wave gently enveloping you in a surge of blue light. A faint buzzing in your ear grows louder with each second. The room around you melts into a viscous amalgam with no end or beginning. You’re not sure where your feet have gone or if time was moving at all. Suddenly, as quickly as the sensation came, you’re back on solid ground.   
  
You shake the daze from your eyes. The glowering mob is still planted firmly in their seats watching with slight interest. An arm loosely hangs around your waist. _What just happened?_ Sans’s body felt taut and tense.  
  
“Quit playin’ around, Sans!” Undyne rams a fist impatiently into the table as Sans appears to struggle for an answer.  
  
He looks up at you and for the first time that night you get a clear look at his face. It was in its entirety, a skull. Human-like but still very much different from your own. His mouth, or teeth, is fixed in a permanent Cheshire-cat grin and his eye sockets were sunken and darker than the onyx stones around his skeletal fingers. Pinprick lights for eyes intensely probes yours for answers you didn’t know the questions for. Despite his appearance you were able to discern his expression quite clearly. Something was wrong. His grip on you went completely slack, beads of sweat fully formed on his brow.  
  
“hey, kid... what ar-”  
  
 _SLAM  
  
_ "SORRY I'M LATE EVERYONE. GOT LOST FINDING THE RIGHT PLACE. WHEW, THAT WAS SOME PUZZLE, HUH?" Before either of you could react, a skeletal giant sharply dressed in a suit tipped in red pinstripes strides in noisily with a heavy crate under his gangly arm. The bony colossus spots Sans and starts yelling angrily, "SANS! WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME YOU WERE GOING AHEAD? YOU DIDN’T EVEN TAKE THE GOODS WITH YOU! MUST I DO EVERYTHING MYSELF?”  
  
Sans responds slowly, something clearly weighing on his mind, “oh, uh, hi bro. so _good_ of you to come.”  
  
Growing impatient at the slow reaction he was getting, the taller of the brothers strides over and addresses you instead, “HELLO, MISS. I’M PAPYRUS. YOU MUST BE SAN’S NEW... _FRIEND_!”  
  
You narrow your eyes at Sans feeling an undesirable mixture of pity and disgust, “Ah, nice to meet you, Papyrus. I’m-”  
  
“WAIT! HERE, CAN YOU HOLD THIS FOR A SEC? THERE ARE ER.. _GUESTS_ OUTSIDE I MUST ATTEND TO.”  
  
“hey, wait a sec Paps!”  
  
Papyrus shoves the crate in your arms and runs out the door. The sudden weight thrust upon you was something you weren’t ready for and you topple backwards onto the floor with a resounding _thud_. Some of the crate’s contents fall out on impact and shatter around you.  
  
Undyne’s unsettled voice cuts through the commotion like an air raid siren, “Wait a minute, Papyrus! Guests? What guests? Sans! What’s he talkin’ about?”  
  
The room bursts into a flurry of action but a more pressing matter has your complete attention. Something wet and red was seeping into your clothes. Despite its gruesome shade, it felt too cold to be blood and too warm to be anything reasonably plausible. Ignoring the searing pain in your backside, you get up on your knees to take a peek into the crate. You feel your head spin. The sight of a hundred glittering ruby vials makes you wish you were covered in blood after all. This wasn't just a den of run-of-the-mill crooks. This was a dope ring. You lift a vial to the light. And not the common stuff either. Determination Enacting Transfusion, or DET, was the kind of poison that either made dreams come true or killed you and everyone you’ve ever known. Against your better judgement you stash one in your pant pocket. This whole fiasco was quickly rising beyond your pay grade  
  
The door swings open again as Papyrus rushes back inside panting, a gun gripped tightly in his hand, “UM, GUYS? WE’VE GOT A PROBLEM. A COP PROBLEM.” He looks down at Sans almost sheepishly, “ _SEVERAL_ COP PROBLEMS."  
  
A hulking wolf with missing ears kicks back his chair and snarls at Papyrus. “You mean you were tailed!”  
  
His mate, a smaller blonde wolf, spits contemptuously, “To hell with the deal, Undyne. Guess the rumors were true after all. You Dreemur boys really are slippin’.”  
  
Sans steps in, “hey, buddy. i’d watch my tone if i were you.”  
  
“Or what? Gonna call the cops?”  
  
"No, this smells like an inside job. Someone here musta sold us out."  
  
“Ha! That’s the kinda backstabbin’ trick I’d expect from _your_ rotten family. Never trust a Canid man to play it straight."  
  
“Wanna say that one more time with bullets for teeth instead?”  
  
This was your chance to escape while everybody was busy bickering. If you were quick you could dodge the law in time too. The last thing you need in your life right now is to get caught up in a mob war. You sidle past Sans’s back and quietly make a dive for the door.  
  
“OH MISS, WAIT! YOU DROPPED THIS!”   
  
You turn around to see Papyrus waving a business card over your head. _Your_ business card. The fancy one on black heavyweight cardstock with gold pressed script. The one with the agency’s logo stamped neatly in the center with yours and Frisk’s name underneath. The one you always carried in your coat to impress would-be clients even though some circumstances dictated more caution with carrying incriminating evidence on your person. _That_ business card. Your eyes grow wide, lungs suddenly unsure of what to do with the air inside them.  
  
You shakily answer, “Oh…yes, of course. Thank you, Papyrus.” You reach out to grab the card trying to keep your hand steady.  
  
“NOT A PROBLEM!” Papyrus excitedly looks you up and down exclaiming in his very loud voice, “HOW EXCITING. I’VE NEVER MET A REAL DETECTIVE BEFORE! ARE YOU ON A CASE RIGHT NOW?” Papyrus beams at you, completely oblivious to the blood he’s spilt into the shark-infested waters. Your blood. The card flutters to the floorboards under your failing grip. The in-fighting had ceased. The quiet before the storm.   
  
“Well, boys,” Undyne bares her jagged teeth, every muscle in her body poised to drag you under, “looks like we found our rat.”  
  



	5. "Sea" Ya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's rude to overstay your welcome. Good thing you were raised with manners.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally getting past that darn introductory phase, am I right? Time to get into the meat of it all. Hopefully....

You’re quickly surrounded on all sides by knuckle cracking goons who clearly weren’t too keen on having you around. Papyrus, realizing he’s erred in some way, nervously hides behind his brother, who remains firmly in place, face devoid of any recognizable emotion.  
  
You try to buy some time as you search desperately for an out, “Hey, hold on a sec, will ya? I’d be a pretty lousy mole if I carried around a damn business card on the job, don’t you think?"  
  
"Yeah well, maybe you really are just that lousy."  
  
“Fair enough."  
  
"What kinda two-bit act hired a rookie like you, anyway?”  
  
“Pretty sure this one’s with the Consortium. She's got mage written all over her. She reeks of it."  
  
“She’s with the law, not the mages. Are you even paying attention?”  
  
"Sorry to disappoint, pal. I'm as non-magic as they come. Not with the cops either."  
  
"Oh, just shoot her and get it over with. The shamus isn’t the problem here, ain’t that right, _Sans_ ?"  
  
“Couldn’t keep his vices buttoned up long enough to not screw things up, eh?”  
  
Undyne leaps in and grabs you by the collar. "Dunno how you pulled a fast one on Sans but let's cut to the chase before things get real nasty, girly. Who the hell are you and why are you here?"  
  
You swallow hard keeping your voice level, "Y/N. Private eye, well, in-training. Sort of. I’m looking for someone . Was told to drop in tonight for a chat with a stranger who’s in-the-know. You’d best check my front pocket if you don’t believe me."  
  
Undyne pins you roughly to the wall with one hand and rummages your pocket with the other, pulling out the letter. She sniffs it and gives you a hard stare. "Sans," she holds out the piece of paper in his direction with her eyes still glued to you.   
  
Sans snaps free from his trance and averts to his old nonchalant self. He unfolds the note and takes a brief glance at its contents, "heh, tough luck kid. looks like you were stood up. nobody here’s got the foggiest idea what this is about. ain’t too bright of ya to follow a weak a lead as this one though, huh?"  
  
Your face grows red, unable to decide whether or not you were embarrassed, livid, or suffering from lack of oxygen. You decide to play it down. "Call it bad intuition. Or desperation, if you’d like. In any case, isn't that just the kind of proof you wanted?"  
  
Sans tucks the note into his suit shrugging,"lousy luck don’t mean anythin’ to me, kid. 'sides, you've already seen too much to just go free."  
  
You can hear heavy footsteps forming up outside, undoubtedly the arrival of New Ebott City's finest. "I'll have you know my luck is pretty good.” You tap the wall behind you, “and so will yours be if you play your cards right." Undyne slams you against the wall again, this time with twice the force.   
  
Sans's toothy grin widens. The smile doesn’t reach his eyes. "so you wanna play the hostage. am i hearin' this right?"  
  
Still wincing from the blow you give him a dumb grin of your own, "Might save you good folks a bit of dustshed. Or maybe not. The pigs aren't too fond of my kind but they'll do anything to look good in the papers. What sin of vanity is more righteous than damsel savin?"  
  
Undyne snorts, "You're the furthest thing from any damsel I've ever seen. Besides, I still don't trust you."  
  
"undyne," Sans lights a cigarette, "what do we got to lose?"  
  
"You can't be serious! Let's say it works and we get them to back off long enough for us to escape. Then what?"  
  
Sans takes a long drag. You watch with morbid fascination at the smoke filling up his ribcage, ghostly tendrils escaping through the opening of his collar. He exhales slowly, obscuring his face.  
  
"we'll let luck decide."  
  
  


* * *

  
A gun is shoved right against the back of your head as you're marched outside to face the police. You even put on a good show of batting your eyes full of crocodile tears as a bonus. It worked fairly well as you predicted. They hemmed and hawed as they slowly backed up into the warehouse across from yours, as per Undyne's terms. You watch the last of the men back up into the storage and close the door behind them. Someone pulls down the heavy latch from the outside effectively locking them in. Things were going almost too smoothly.  
  
At her signal a couple monsters began to scatter in multiple directions to scout for additional units hiding around the perimeter. No sooner had the first few guns stepped out towards the open, several shots rang out, felling bodies in an instant. A heavy mist of smoke starts obscuring everything in its path. More gunshots. A second and third police unit was deployed out of nowhere, hollering and looking for a fight. You notice that most of these men weren’t in uniform but didn’t have the luxury to ponder on it. It was impossible to tell how many there actually were through the smokescreen.The monsters meet them head on, magic and bullets flashing like lightning inside a storm cloud. The gun at your head whips off in another direction giving you the out you needed.  
  
Barreling through the smoke you leap onto a crate and launch yourself over the fray. There was no way you’d be able to outrun both the cops and the mob going back the way you came. The entrance to the port was a chokehold bound to be crawling with reinforcement. _Unless..._ You peer towards the darkly lit horizon. While not very fond of the activity even on warm, sunny days, circumstances could perhaps persuade you into going for a nice, midnight swim. You kick off hard to grab the momentum you need and begin dashing towards the westernmost edge of the dock where the fishing boats used to anchor.   
  
You don’t get too far before feeling a sudden chill creep up your spine. Without stopping you take a look behind your shoulder to see Sans breaching the haze, locking onto your position from afar. A single glowing eye like a blue shooting star vanishes and reappears every few seconds, hot on your trail. You skid around a turn at the next block, smoke practically trailing your heels as you fumble open your trench. The dark waters lapped gently against the piling, sloshing erratically around the oil soaked deck. You fling off your coat. You were running out of runway at an alarming pace, the open water approaching fast. But not as fast as Sans.  
  
“give it up, dollface. i’d hate to _sea_ you go.”  
  
You slide into a halt barely a foot away from the edge. Sans points a revolver at your heaving back as he approaches. You slip your hands into your pants pockets casually and face your pursuer.  
  
Still breathing hard you manage to wheeze, “Hey, listen… you and I...got off on the wrong foot. Why don't we just start over?" You pull out your left hand slowly and open your palm to reveal a wrapped piece of monster candy.  
  
“sweet of you to offer but I'd rather treat ya to a little questioning instead.”  
  
You transfer the candy to your gloveless right hand and roll it between your fingers, "Oh, what a relief. Is that all?" The wrapper sparks and fizzles.  
  
"Fire away."  
  
You toss the monster candy at Sans just in time for it to explode in his face, scattering loose, starry embers onto the wooden landing. Giving him a wink and a salute you plunge into the inky dark waters.  
  
Sans stands motionless watching the flames lick his heels. He takes your note from his pocket, reflecting on it for a second and throws it into the fire. The scent of butterscotch briefly fills the air as black smoke greedily engulfs the night. He gazes out towards the sea making no attempt to continue the chase, for now.  
  
“what’s your game, Tori?”


End file.
